If It's Love
by BlowTheCandlesOut
Summary: A look at the lives of Blaine and Kurt over the holidays as they begin their new life together in New York City after college; frustration, confusion, and a whole lot of love
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: hey all! so i'm sort-of-kind-of-not-totally back in the saddle for writing but, my schedule permitting, i'm going to go ahead with my little angst monster i've been working on once i refine a few plot points. so, you ask: what the hell is _this_ fic then? this little guy is a combo of 3 happy and wonderful things: klaine love, music, and holidays- consider it the cheery yin to my angsty yang of the fic im currently working on. So basically this is how its going to work: all of these chapters in this fic take place in the same story line but they're set up more like one shots; they all have lyrics for titles (because i love music too much to not do it) and they each fall on some holiday with blaine and kurt (this is set post-high school, p.s.)- i have the first two chapters and like half of the third ready to go for this guy but the angsty fella isnt quite ready... additionally, ive had some amazing opportunities roll my way in terms of writing recently so when im not working and out and about, my normal writing time has recently been dedicated to a project outside the fanfic realm so i might not be as good about posting in a timely manner but ill do the best i can! anyway, here is my little side project for your reading pleasure; hope you enjoy :)**

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><p><strong>Tonight's the Night the World Begins Again<strong>

The apartment was freezing. Not like, huh-I-should-put-on-a-pair-of-socks-and-maybe-a-warmer-sweater cold. It was glacial cold, as in Kurt could see his breath the second he got through the door cold. He hugged his arms around his middle as he checked the thermostat. It was set to the proper temperature. He toggled the dial a few times and banged the heel of his palm into it for good measure before wandering toward one of the heating vents. He shoved a chair against the wall and clambered on top of it. A little begrudgingly, he pulled one glove off to hold his fingers to the cold metal grates. Nothing.

He sighed, climbed down, and replaced the chair. He tried the light switch. Nope, not working. Great. He wandered out the door, prepared to knock on the door across the hall when he remembered neither Rachel or Finn would be home. He sighed and went back into his own apartment. It felt even colder. He wondered absently if the heat escaping into the hall from under their neighbors' doors would warm up their little home a few degrees. Was he willing to stoop so low as to leave the door open in hopes he was right? He watched the heat of his breath cloud the air in front of him. Yes, he would definitely stoop that low. He shoved one of Blaine's textbooks between the door and the frame and moved toward the kitchen, trying each light switch hopelessly. He flinched when the nearby church bells rang out to signal the hour. He was grateful it was only two. After eight, Kurt couldn't stand the noise of the damn things clanging on and on and on. Blaine thought they were lovely.

"Why's the door—ow—Jesus, it's freezing in here!" Kurt turned to see Blaine in the doorway, bouncing on one foot, the other cradled between his hands. He'd stubbed his toes on the textbook.

"You're home early." Kurt observed, giving up the fruitless search for working electricity.

Blaine had plucked the book up off the floor to stare at hatefully, "Yeah, they're assholes but they're not completely without souls. They just sent me home with a bunch of paperwork—why is this in the door?"

"The hallway's warmer." Kurt shrugged, "Did you pay electricity this month?"

"Nope; I thought you did," Blaine quirked an eyebrow and dropped the book down on the kitchen table.

"No—I had enough money to deal with either the bill or groceries last week. I opted for us not to starve." Kurt shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'm just dead broke." Blaine replied with a grim smile; he flipped a switch up and down a couple times just to be sure they wouldn't work.

Kurt sighed, "What are we going to do Blaine?"

"I've got time today to go down to that Italian restaurant and play for tips." Blaine dropped his briefcase down on the couch, "That's something. And maybe we can borrow a little money from Rachel and Finn."

"They're almost as bad off as we are, and I doubt the Italian place is open today." Kurt slumped against the counter. He felt like crying, but he was too cold.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Blaine frowned and crossed the room to his lover, he slipped his hands around his waist, "They've turned the heat off on us before; I mean, it's never been this cold when they did it, but we've scraped together the money and we can do it again. Don't worry about it."

Kurt glanced up to meet Blaine's eyes. Sweet Blaine, always so optimistic. He couldn't tell him. He looked away and nodded his head, "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right." Blaine hugged him close; kissed him on the temple, "Wanna come watch me play?"

"You have to order something to be in there." Kurt reminded Blaine quietly. He didn't feel like reiterating his doubts about the restaurant even being open.

Blaine tilted his head, thinking, "Come sing with me then; it'll be fun."

"I don't think I'm really in the mood to sing, Blaine." Kurt sighed, resting his cheek against the rough wool of Blaine's jacket. It smelled like him.

Blaine fell silent for a moment and then released Kurt to stride toward their bedroom, "Gimme a second."

Kurt stamped his feet a few time to keep the blood flowing in his icy toes.

Blaine reappeared, his guitar case dangling from one hand and Kurt's sketch book cradled in the other, "Come on; grab the keys."

"Blaine—" Kurt tried to object. Blaine was always well intentioned but his ideas had a way of blowing up in their faces and he wasn't so sure he wanted to be a part of whatever scheme Blaine had conjured up in less than five minutes.

"You can stay here and freeze to death or you can follow me," Blaine called from the hallway.

He had a point. Kurt snatched the keys off the counter and trailed after him into the snowy streets. Blaine handed over Kurt's sketchbook and led them down a few blocks. He swung his guitar in one hand while he whistled out a little tune Kurt knew was some sort of Disney song, though he couldn't remember which one.

"You had to turn left there, you know." Kurt paused and motioned a thumb over his shoulder when Blaine continued past the block that housed the restaurant he used to play at when they had first moved out to the city.

Blaine winked at him, "We're not going to the Italian place; come on, it's just a couple more blocks."

Kurt caught up to him; prepared to demand to know where they were going, but then Blaine had caught hold of Kurt's hand in his free one; he tucked both of their hands into his pocket. Kurt decided to remain quiet.

Blaine stopped them at a brick-fronted building, tugging Kurt through the front door after him.

Kurt closed his eyes; savoring the heat. It warmed his cheeks and took the sting out of his ears and nose.

"Like it?" Blaine asked; clearly pleased with himself.

Kurt opened his eyes and gazed around. It was a coffee shop—the little hole-in-the-wall kind with couches and battered tables and local art on the walls. "It has heat and a lit up open sign. I love it."

Blaine laughed, "I come here to do paperwork sometimes; they have people playing all the time."

"You think they'll let you play?" Kurt glanced around. Much to his surprise, the place was decently busy, but there was no one at the mic in the corner.

"Sure as hell hope so," Blaine shrugged, "Go get a table—I'll talk to the manager."

Kurt did as he was told; he spotted a fireplace and selected the closest table he could find by it. He could see Blaine chatting with a young woman. He smiled to himself—if the manager was a female, Blaine would have no problem getting what he wanted. He could twist women around his little finger until they were reduced to giggling, blushing preteens.

Sure enough, Blaine approached Kurt a few minutes later, a grin on his face, "She said yes."

Kurt smiled and leaned back in his chair, "Why am I not surprised?"

"What should I play?" Blaine tilted his head, a boyish smile on his face. He hadn't had time to perform in a long time—his internship at the law firm had taken over most of his waking hours.

Kurt found his enthusiasm a little infective, "Surprise me."

Blaine looked thoughtful for another moment before another smile lit up his face. He straightened up and moved to the microphone without a word.

Kurt turned his attention to his sketchbook, he scanned through a few old drawings—plans for dresses and blouses he had never actually turned into anything tangible. He opened to a fresh page and stared down at it. His mind was as blank as the paper in front of him. All he could think about was how they were going to pay the rent that was due in a week.

_You think I'm pretty without any makeup on_

_You think I'm funny when I get the punch line wrong…_

Kurt's head shot up to stare at Blaine. Blaine was staring back, a smile on his face. Of _course_ he would choose that song. And, of course, Kurt couldn't not smile back. He listened for a while; remembered being so incredibly young and dreaming of nothing but a boyfriend as dreamy as Blaine and a future in the Big City. He felt his heart sink a little; he had been so young; so naïve. He turned his gaze back down to the paper and started sketching out the outline of a jacket. Blaine played for hours, chattering at the patrons of the little café every once in awhile, laughing to them about the misfortune of his heat being turned off like it was nothing at all. Kurt glanced up from time to time to offer him a supportive smile, but otherwise immersed himself in his work. He didn't want to think about music; about singing; about performing.

Blaine only gave up the microphone when the guy scheduled to play for the night came in to take over. Kurt glanced up to see Blaine chatting with the barista, but then turned his face back toward the fire, trying to absorb some warmth to take home with him.

He could smell the familiar scent of Blaine behind him even before he spoke; he peered over Kurt's shoulder at the sketch, "I like that."

Kurt studied the drawing, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Blaine touched a kiss to the top of Kurt's head, "Ready to go?"

Kurt shut the pad of paper and pulled his gloves on, "Sure; how'd you do today?"

Blaine shrugged, "I think okay; we can count at home. Here."

Kurt stared at the cup in Blaine's outstretched hand; surprised, "What's this?"

"Non-fat mocha. What? Did you think just because we can't afford it anymore I would forget your coffee order?" Blaine grinned, "Don't look at me like that; it was three bucks, it won't put us anymore in the poor house than we already are, and it'll keep you warm on the walk home. Take it."

Kurt realized he was still staring at the cup. He took it in his free hand and smiled at Blaine, "You're wonderful."

"I do my best." Blaine smiled, "Come on, let's get going."

They walked in compatible silence; Kurt sipped on his drink and felt he could moan out of sheer delight. It was true—they hadn't been able to go out for coffee since…when? Probably when Blaine was still an undergrad he was fairly sure; his parents had cut him off soon after that… He glanced over at the dark haired boy. His eyes were far off, a slight smile on his mouth. He touched the warm cup to his lover's cheek. Blaine's gaze drifted over to him, his smile widening, "What?"

"Just wondering what you're thinking about." Kurt returned the smile, taking another drink out of the cup.

"Nothing really. You." Blaine shrugged. It had started snowing; he tipped his chin up toward the sky.

Kurt watched him, "Don't even _think_ about sticking your tongue out to catch one, Blaine Anderson. With the pollution in the air here you'll end up with some god awful disease and we can't afford a medical bill."

Blaine laughed, tipping his head back down, "You know me too well."

Kurt took another sip from his cup; trying to savor it slowly, but it was growing colder by the second. He remembered the nearly daily coffee dates he and Blaine had once shared. They had had one such date the day they packed up Blaine's car for the city. Suddenly, the drink just tasted bland to him. He used the little heat left coming through the Styrofoam to warm his hands.

"Home sweet home." Blaine sing-songed, guiding them up the three flights of stairs. He didn't trust the elevator for a second.

They stepped out of the hall into the shadowy, cold space of their apartment. Kurt flipped the switch by the door up and felt a gloom settle over him when nothing happened. He had forgotten about the power.

"It's like the fucking Arctic in here." Blaine dropped his guitar down and moved toward the kitchen, "Prop that book in the door again, would you? We can borrow the light from the hall for a bit."

Kurt complied; he glanced across the hall—the space under Rachel and Finn's door was dark. But that shouldn't have seemed surprising for the second time in a day; they weren't even in the City. They'd gone home to Ohio to see their families.

"Ha! Look!" Blaine pulled a cardboard box out from under the sink; it was filled with candles. He sat the box down on the table and began pulling them out; glancing at their labels, "Do you care if the apartment smells like grandma's sugar cookies, tropical rain forests, and cinnamon apple spice?"

Kurt wrinkled his nose and threw Blaine a withering look as he pulled open the cabinets to search out something for them to eat.

"We can switch out one of those for sun-dried laundry or autumn harvest… and how the hell does anyone know what sandcastles smell like?" Blaine was sniffing one of the candles, "Why do we have a sandcastle-scented candle anyway?"

"Your mom gave those to us as a going away present, remember?" Kurt replied. Dinner prospects were not looking good. The bread—as far as Kurt could tell in the half-dark—had something green growing on it, and the only potentially edible thing he had found was a box of Honey Nut Cheerios he couldn't remember buying.

Blaine had fallen quiet, studying the array of candles. Kurt felt an ache in his chest for him. He didn't like to talk about his parents, "Blaine, do you like Cheerios?"

Blaine shook himself from his silent reverie; he smiled, "I love Cheerios."

"Good, because it's either that or stale Wheat Thins." Kurt glanced at the row of candles on the table, "And, no, I don't care if the apartment smells like we're baking in a rainforest."

Blaine lit the candles and cupped a hand over the top of one. Kurt came to nuzzle into his side, watching the glow silently. He offered the open box of Cheerios.

Blaine popped a handful of cereal into his mouth, staring grimly at their breath clouding the air, "We're going to freeze faster than Leo DiCaprio in Titanic in here."

Kurt handed the box over to Blaine so he could pull the book out of the door and turn the lock. The bells clanged out nine heavy chimes.

Blaine studied the flickering light for another moment; he put the box down on the table and plucked two of the candles off the table, "Come on."

Kurt followed him with the third candle into the bedroom. He sat down in the middle of the bed, turning his face down to the orange glow, imagining he could feel some heat being emitted from it.

Blaine was in and out of the room three more times—first with the guitar case where his tips were still residing, next with the Cheerios, and finally he returned with the box of candles. He pulled out every single glass jar, every candlestick, even the little tea candles rolling around in the bottom of the box.

"Blaine, you're going to burn the building down." Kurt crossed his legs beneath him, still holding the cinnamon-scented candle between both hands.

"We'll go out in a blaze of glory then." Blaine replied, moving to light the candles on their dresser.

"That's a terrible joke; the cold is killing your wittiness." Kurt rolled his eyes.

Blaine seemed unfettered. He finished his project and sat down beside Kurt on the bed, "Pretty, isn't it?"

Kurt watched the dancing shadows on the walls; he smiled and put his candle on the nightstand, "Yeah, it is."

Blaine gazed around at his handiwork for another minute before tugging his guitar case up beside them. They wordlessly began counting. Kurt finished his pile first. He watched Blaine silently mouthing the numbers as he counted pennies. When he finally looked up, he smiled hopefully, "I've got sixty three thirty seven. What do you have?"

"Forty one fifty two." Kurt replied, trying to do the math in his head.

Blaine ticked off numbers on his fingers for a moment; he grinned, "That's almost one hundred and five bucks. We did good."

"_You_ did good," Kurt revised, he sighed and caught one of Blaine's hands between his, "Look at your hands, Blaine."

Blaine glanced down at his other hand, the pads of his fingers were blistered and red, he smiled, "Played until my fingers bled; it's like you're dating a rock star, how do you feel about that?"

Kurt didn't reply, he traced his thumb over Blaine's fingertips.

Blaine shuddered and folded both of his hands over Kurt's, rubbing them to get the blood flowing in his icy fingers, "Jesus, I'm cold."

"We're currently residing in an apartment that could pass for Antarctica in case you've forgotten." Kurt replied, pulling his hand free to put the money back into Blaine's guitar case, "How much was the electric bill; do you remember?"

Blaine frowned, "One fifty or something like that…"

Kurt nodded slowly, "My Dad sent us a hundred a few days ago… we should be able to get the heat and lights back on in a day or two… but I don't know what we're going to do about rent, and—"

"Hush. No more money talk tonight." Blaine shoved the guitar off the bed and pulled the comforter back, "Come here."

Kurt slipped under the blankets—the sheets cold even through his clothes—but he was not finished speaking, "Blaine, it's not going to just go away. We have to be able to pay rent."

"I know we do, but we can't do anything about it right now, so stop worrying so much." Blaine pulled his sweater off and threw it on the floor before burrowing deeper under the covers and closer to Kurt. He looked thoughtful before slipping a hand under Kurt's shirt, running his fingertips along his ribs, "I can think of some things we can do to warm up."

"Not in the mood, Blaine," Kurt let out a long breath; pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "and your hands are freezing."

"Kurt," Blaine slipped his hand back out from under the fabric of Kurt's shirt and hugged an arm around his middle beneath the covers, "You've been upset all day; what's wrong?"

Kurt swallowed hard. How could he not get it? How could he not see it?

"Hey; talk to me," Blaine kissed his hair, "Please?"

"This wasn't how it was supposed to be." Kurt finally whispered, the tears were hot, but they left cold trails down his cheeks. They settled in his ears as he stared up at the ceiling, unable to meet Blaine's eyes.

"What isn't how it's supposed to be?" Blaine sounded confused.

"New York, our lives; it's everything, Blaine!" Kurt felt like a lid had been released on the pent up hysteria that had been building in his chest for months, "I can't get work at all, you slave at an internship at a law firm you hate, your parents practically disowned you, we can't afford to go see mine, and we're living in a shitty apartment in a shitty part of town and we can barely afford even that."

"How was it supposed to be?" Blaine asked, tilting his chin up to study Kurt's face.

"Don't you remember what we wanted when we were kids, Blaine?" Kurt sniffled, "I was going to be on Broadway and you were going to be a musician and we were going to have this amazing New York City adventure. I dragged you out here without a clue as to what the hell we were doing, and then when you stayed after college to be with me and your parents cut you off, for some reason I _still_ thought we'd be okay. I wanted this wonderful, amazing life for us, and just look where we are. We can't even afford to keep our heat on in the middle of December."

"We'll be okay." Blaine rubbed his hand gently over Kurt's stomach.

"How can you act like that all the time?" Kurt sniffled, rolling onto his side to look at Blaine.

"Act like what?" Blaine looked at him with sad confusion.

"Like your whole life didn't blow up in your face! Like I didn't destroy any hope of a relationship you could have had with your parents! Like this is exactly what you wanted." Kurt couldn't stop the tears. Yes, he was angry about his own life, but his anger was far outweighed by the guilt he felt for putting Blaine through it all. Blaine had wanted to go West—be by the ocean; the boardwalks; L.A. They wouldn't have had to worry about the heating bill in California. But Kurt had demanded New York and Blaine had happily conceded; packing up his car with their belongings without blinking an eye.

"I _did_ get exactly what I wanted," Blaine smiled a little.

Kurt stared at him; it was his turn to look confused, "How can you say that?"

"You're right... I hate my job, we don't have any money, and this apartment is shit," Blaine glanced around the orange glow of their little bedroom before looking back at the boy beside him, "but I get to come home from work and, yeah, I don't have more than five bucks to my name and my apartment probably doesn't meet safety codes, but it doesn't matter. Even if I get berated at work, I know you'll make me feel better. Even if I don't have a dime to my name, I know you'lI come up with some amazing date for us to go on whenever the mood strikes you. Even if my apartment has hit or miss hot water and a funny stain on the kitchen ceiling, it's the place I get to make love to you; build a life with you. I have everything I ever needed because all I ever wanted was to be with you... The rest is all just details."

Kurt studied his face for a long time, tears slipping down his cheeks but now for another reason entirely, "Why are you so perfect?"

"Perfect?" Blaine laughed and pulled Kurt in close to him, "I am a hot damn mess most of the time; I'm just lucky to have someone who can ignore all that."

"I've been awful to you—you're right; we'll pull through like we always do…" Kurt peered up from where he had nested his head below Blaine's chin to meet his eyes, "forgive me?"

Blaine nuzzled his cold nose against Kurt's, "there's nothing to forgive."

Kurt pressed a kiss to his mouth; his jaw; his neck. How could he have ever forgotten his other dream outside New York? The dream of somebody to complete him, love him; know him entirely, "So what was your idea earlier, about keeping warm?"

He could feel Blaine's lips curve into a smile against the skin of his neck, he nipped at his collarbone, "I have all kinds of ideas."

Blaine was right. When Kurt collapsed back onto his pillow, Blaine's warm body curled behind his own; he was warmer. _Much_ warmer. He was still catching his breath and he could feel Blaine's heart beating against his back. They said nothing. Blaine looped an arm around his middle; Kurt drew his hand up to his chest and held it there. The bell chimed twelve times.

Kurt brushed his lips across Blaine's knuckles, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Blaine placed a soft kiss on the back of Kurt's neck, "Merry Christmas, Kurt."

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><p><strong>To Be Continued... (Up Next: Valentine's Day :D)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay for chapter two! To counter my angst in If I Die Young, I have for you all kinds of lovey dovey moosh... in case you were curious: the title of chapter one is from better days by the goo goo dolls**

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><p><em><strong>Forever Could Never Be Long Enough For Me<strong>_

The apartment was perfect. Well, as perfect as a flat with dingy carpet and a mystery stain in the ceiling could be. Kurt glanced at the clock—Blaine wasn't due home for at least another two hours or so, but he couldn't help himself. He dimmed the lights and lit the candles (all of the same uniform, neutral scent thank-you-very-much). Sappy, overdone, and completely cliché. Blaine would adore it. Then again, if Kurt had scrapped the entire romantic dinner plan and just gone out and bought those Valentine-themed Pillsbury cookies that came pre-made, Blaine would probably be just as touched by the gesture—he loved any and all Valentine's Day-themed events and activities, and his mood was particularly bright when he had left for work that morning. Kurt had not minded being roused with hot kisses down the back of his neck and callused fingers slipping down his pants at five that morning, nor did he mind Blaine sliding into the shower behind him. He didn't even care that he had to redo his hair and change his outfit when Blaine dragged him back into the shower fully dressed. He'd kissed him goodbye in the hallway in a way that probably wasn't decent for public viewing, grabbed his ass, winked, and disappeared down the stairs singing _Your Song_.

Kurt pulled a rose from the bunch to run his fingers over the delicate little pedals. He smiled. Blaine had been right at Christmas time of course. Things had begun looking up for them. Kurt had scored a role in a musical—he had only two lines, but that was fine by him—and Blaine was due for a promotion and a raise sometime very soon. The roses really still couldn't be afforded—nor could the bottle of champagne or most of the things he'd purchased to make dinner—but they had practically begged to be brought home and arranged in the middle of the kitchen table, so Kurt had given in to his sentimental side and purchased them. Sitting there, arranged neatly in their little crystal vase, they made the whole room actually look presentable and their sweet perfume was so much lovelier than the artificial scent of the pink Yankee candle that claimed to smell of the fresh cut blooms. Blaine had taken to lighting those stupid candles constantly—he had turned creating bizarre scent combinations into somewhat of a hobby; he was particularly proud of the Honeydew Melon and Grandfather's Leather Chair duo he had lit the previous night. Kurt had spent hours with the windows open and teeth chattering that morning to try and get rid of the scent. He shook his head to himself recalling Blaine giggling like a child over those stupid candles and replaced the flower with the rest. He rearranged a few of the stems until they were to his liking. Yes, they were worth it. Blaine was worth it. Kurt jumped when he heard a key turning in the door. They hadn't asked the super to come up and fix anything as far as he knew…

"What are you doing home so early?" Kurt jumped up from the chair when Blaine walked into the room.

Blaine looked around; startled. He took in the candles, his eyes scanning over their little flames; he studied the flowers quietly; finally, he looked at Kurt.

"I had planned on having dinner on the table when you got home," Kurt blushed; shrugged, "Well, anyway; Happy Valentine's Day."

"This… this is all for me?" Blaine looked around again.

"No," Kurt made his way toward Blaine with a smile, "It's for my other amazing, wonderful, talented, sexy, perfect boyfriend."

Blaine didn't smile. He was still looking around in a daze.

Kurt startled a little when he slipped his hands under Blaine's suit jacket, "You're freezing!"

"I walked home." Blaine murmured; he was looking at the roses again.

"You have a bus pass, you know," Kurt rubbed his hands up and down Blaine's sides. He smiled when Blaine finally met his gaze, "When it's ten below it's a decent idea to put that thing to good use."

Blaine searched his eyes for a moment; he dropped his forehead to Kurt's shoulder; he was crying, "Oh, Kurt."

Blaine did not cry—he preferred to be sullen and irritable when he was upset—but there he was, weeping on Kurt's shoulder. Alarmed, Kurt pulled his hands out from under Blaine's jacket and wrapped him in a tight hug, "Blaine, what? What is it?"

Blaine seemed to remember, too, that he was not one for tears. He sniffled, turned his cheek into Kurt's shoulder and used the back of a hand to scrub at his cheeks, he was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke, quietly, "They gave me a case today. My very own."

Kurt kept rubbing circles on his back, but now he was confused, "Isn't that the promotion we were waiting for?"

Blaine nodded against Kurt's shirt, "Big raise to go with it, too."

"So we're tragically distraught because…" Kurt frowned. This made no sense at all—maybe all those late nights and fine print reading had finally made Blaine crack.

"The case, it…" Blaine pulled out of Kurt's embrace to wipe more fully at the tears he hadn't already forced away; he took a shaky breath, his eyes on one of the candles behind Kurt's shoulder, "I was supposed to defend a guy who beat up his sister after she came out to him."

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt touched a hand to Blaine's arm, "Don't they know you're—"

Blaine shrugged, "I don't know; I thought they did—your picture's on my desk and I talk about us to the paralegals. Doesn't really matter now whether they do or not… I quit."

"You…what?" Kurt shook his head; he was confused again.

Blaine finally met his eyes, "I couldn't do it. I… It just sort of hit me on the walk home I guess… I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"Sorry?" Kurt echoed. Sorry for what?

Blaine looked like he might cry again; he tipped his head back, blinking to keep the tears at bay before looking at Kurt again, "That raise… it could have meant a new apartment for us Kurt; a place with constant hot water where we don't need four deadbolts. And now we're out a paycheck completely. I should have at least consulted you first or just stuck it out or—"

"Blaine, shut up." Kurt pressed a hand over his mouth.

Blaine remained silent when Kurt dropped his hand down, but he stared at him guiltily.

"And to think this Valentine's Day I actually thought you'd be an iota less clueless than you were when we were in high school," Kurt smiled and shook his head.

"Kurt, I—"

"Did I say I was finished?" Kurt quirked an eyebrow.

Blaine clamped his mouth shut.

"I love you, Blaine, and I trust you," Kurt took both of Blaine's hands in his, "You didn't need to consult me—you knew what you were doing, and you have more integrity in one pinkie than those bastards have in their entire bodies. You don't need them."

"I'll have to start all over as an intern, Kurt, it'll be even less money than we're living off now." Blaine said quietly.

"Excuse me, but who just gave me the all we need is love speech a couple months ago?" Kurt squeezed Blaine's hands, "Besides, any firm would be lucky to have you. Hopelessly clueless, yes. But you're also the most kind-hearted, driven, charismatic, amazing person I know; people will _kill _to have Blaine Anderson in their corner. Actually, they probably killed someone and then in the aftermath want you in their corner, but you see my point."

Blaine smiled a little, "You're wonderful; you know that?"

"I know," Kurt kissed Blaine gently, "Don't fret about this anymore. It's done; you're home before nine for once, and it's Valentine's Day. Lets be happy- I know what will cheer you up!"

"What's that?" Blaine let Kurt shove him down into a chair.

Kurt stood on tiptoe to pull the bag down from the top shelf of the hall closet. He hadn't bothered wrapping it—Blaine would know what it was whether or not he hid it in pretty colored paper; he gave him the same thing every year. When he dropped the shopping bag down on the table, Blaine actually laughed. Kurt folded his arms, "Well, are you going to open it or not?"

Blaine obliged him, dropping the plastic Gap bag on the floor and shaking out the army green shirt; he twisted around to grin at Kurt, "I actually like this one."

"Well I thought it might as well be functional." Kurt plucked the bag from the floor and bunched it until it fit neatly in his palm. He had given Blaine a shirt from the Gap for Valentine's Day every year since that fateful day in Ohio back in their Dalton Days. Usually he picked the tackiest one he could find—odd shades of peach with awkward sleeve lengths, plain t-shirts in colors he knew Blaine despised with the Gap logo printed in bold letters across the front; he'd even bought him a women's shirt one year. But, as thin of a line as they were walking that year with their finances, he had opted for something that could be allowed to see the light of day rather than just the inside of their bedroom on lazy Sunday mornings when Blaine felt like making Kurt laugh.

Blaine rubbed a thumb over the cuff of the sleeve, his gaze still on Kurt. He was smiling in that funny way. Kurt had first noticed that smile back when they were seniors in high school. A quiet, thoughtful little thing he'd catch when they were studying for finals; when they were sitting out at the old tree by Pavarotti's grave. He had seen more and more of it over the years, but he still had no idea what it meant. He'd asked of course—on multiple occasions—but Blaine would only shake his head, still smiling, mumble a quick 'nothing' and change the subject. He didn't feel like asking about it today; he liked it and that was all that really mattered.

"Why don't you go change and I'll finish up with dinner, hmm?" Kurt returned the smile.

Blaine seemed to shake himself from some sort of daydream, "Yeah, sure."

Kurt hurried to the pots on the stove; he wasn't really sure if he could have potentially ruined something with his longer-than-anticipated hiatus from the kitchen. He was relieved to find everything in perfect condition. He dropped the lid back down on the saucepan and turned his attention to the refrigerator. Dinner wouldn't be ready for a little while longer, but they could at least drink while they waited. He pulled out the champagne bottle and two glasses. When he returned to the main room, he found that Blaine had not moved from his place at the table.

"I thought you were going to go change." Kurt raised an eyebrow at him as he put the bottle and glasses down on the tabletop.

"I got caught up thinking." Blaine smiled at him. There it was again; the look: the way he tilted his head, that funny little smile; those eyes that said so much but told Kurt nothing.

Kurt couldn't help blushing beneath that look as he sat down in the chair beside Blaine. He decided to fend off his sudden bashfulness by busying himself with pouring them champagne; he pulled the bottle off the table and sighed, "I forgot the corkscrew."

Blaine was watching him as he got to his feet, "Marry me."

Kurt froze—half-sitting, half-standing. He stared at Blaine with wide, uncomprehending eyes. He misheard him. He had to have, "Excuse me?"

"I've wanted to ask you since—I mean I've always meant to; I tried telling you at Christmas, but—shit, let me start over," Blaine got down on his knees beside Kurt's chair, "I have imagined a million ways I want to live out my life, Kurt. Sometimes, I see us staying in the city—amazing condo, going out to shows, flashy jobs, glamorous parties; all that. Sometimes I see us moving into a house out in the suburbs— big yard, blue shutters, a dog; a baby nursery… I've imagined us traveling, I've imagined moving out West; I've even pictured us going back to Ohio. I've dreamed all sorts of different things, but then I realize: I don't care. I don't care where I end up or when I do it or how any of it ever plays out. There is only one thing never changes in all those dreams and one thing I want. You."

Kurt couldn't speak; couldn't breathe. He realized he had dropped fully back down into his chair at some point, but he couldn't remember when.

"I don't have a ring to give you; I don't even have a job so that I can afford a ring, and I know you deserve one. You deserve a lot of things, but all I can offer you is all I have: love," Blaine slipped both of his hands into Kurt's, "I will love you for every single moment of every single day, and I will stay with you in the best and worst of times for as long as you'll let me. So, please… Kurt Hummel, will you marry me?"

Kurt slipped down out of his chair to his knees; his voice came out in a whisper, "Yes."

Blaine stared at him; caught somewhere between nervous and hopeful, "Yes?"

Kurt laughed and said it louder, "Yes!"

Blaine wrapped his arms around him, not bothering to wipe the tears away this time. They remained that way for a long time— content to stay locked in one another's arms.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." Kurt murmured, turning his face to kiss Blaine's neck; his jaw; his cheek; his mouth, "Today and everyday."

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><p><strong>TBC :)<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry this took a bit to get up- its been almost ready for forever, but I'm a scattered mess so I just sort of forgot where I put it in my documents! I seriously need to be better about organizing my docs- Along with this chapter, I just found a chapter of Counting Stars that never got posted lurking around in a folder they didn't belong in... whoops. Anyway, here's the next installment of If It's Love; the song for the last chapter was Marry Me by Train.**

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><p><strong>Songbirds Keep Singing<strong>

The apartment was a mess.

Kurt sighed when he nearly tripped over the sled abandoned in front of the hall closet. He gingerly stepped over the orange plastic; careful to avoid the wet puddles that had formed around it to put his coat away. He surveyed the mess with his hands on his hips, but he paused to smile down at the three sets of boots—one big pair flanked by two little ones. Their owners, however, were nowhere in sight.

Kurt knew better than to check the kitchen or bedroom—if the others were home, he would definitely know it. He surveyed the toy-strewn space and decided to do some damage control while he could. He plucked Barbie dolls, Hot Wheels, and an abandoned glove from the floor and set them into some form of order. He pulled liners from wet boots to set upside down on a heating vent and hung snow pants over the backs of chairs until the clamor in the hall alerted him to the return of the others.

First came Jack, nearly tripping over his own feet as he twisted around to watch Blaine with a delighted grin.

Blaine followed after him, singing and spinning in slow waltz circles, Annie in his arms, "I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream, I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar—"

"Blaine! Blaine! Kurt's home!" Jack shouted despite there being less than three feet separating him from Blaine's legs.

"Well, so he is," Blaine grinned.

"Are you guys having fun today?" Kurt flashed Blaine a quick smile before turning his attention to the seven year-old at his feet.

"Blaine took us sledding and we played music at the coffee place and we played cars and we watched, um, we watched, uh—Blaine, what'd we watch?" Jack twisted around to look at Blaine.

"We watched Finding Nemo," Blaine provided, lowering the little girl to the floor.

"Yeah, that!" Jack turned his attention back to Kurt, "And now we're gonna make cookies. My mom left us the stuff for them in our fridge so we went and got it and we even have chocolate chips!"

"I don't think you need any more sugar," Kurt watched Jack as he bounced on his heels. Kurt raised an eyebrow at Blaine, "What did you lace their juice boxes with to make him this hyper?"

"They had hot chocolate at the café," Blaine admitted.

"It had whipped cream on top!" Annie supplied happily. She had hooked a hand around Blaine's shin and busied herself parading in circles around his legs.

"The manager gave it to them free," Blaine shrugged when Kurt gave him an exhausted look.

"Wait," Kurt suddenly connected Jack's account of their day with what Blaine had just told him, "You brought them with to the shop while you played?"

"Keira said it was fine, so stop giving me the you're-the-world's-worst-babysitter-look," Blaine rolled his eyes, "And do you have any idea how much money a guy can take in when he's got two adorable kids with him?"

"He's not the worst babysitter, he's the BEST babysitter!" Jack jumped up into the air to emphasize his point.

"Bite your tongue, sir," Kurt clicked his tongue in disapproval, "Blaine may play guitar, be a wonderful sled puller, and have a law degree, but he will never be able to bake you cookies—he'll start the kitchen on fire."

Annie stopped her spinning abruptly to stare wide-eyed at Kurt.

"He's just teasing, Annie. He doesn't want Jack to bite his tongue, and I would _not_ burn the kitchen down." Blaine ruffled the little girl's dark curls before shooting Kurt a look.

"He might not burn the kitchen down, but he _would_ burn your cookies," Kurt amended, "And you don't want that, do you?"

Both children shook their heads quickly.

"Lucky for you, I am an expert cookie maker," Kurt pulled the bag from Blaine's hand and peered inside, "You're sure your mom doesn't care if we use this stuff?"

"She bought it special for when we came to play with Blaine today," Jack assured him.

Blaine jingled a set of keys for Kurt to see, "Keira left me the keys to their place so we could go pick the stuff up. She left you a magazine, too; it's in the bag with the other stuff."

Kurt smiled down at Jack, "Tell your mother she is way too good to us."

"She says Blaine is paying her to watch us," Jack scrunched up his face, "Or something like that."

"She pays me plenty," Blaine chuckled, "Do you want to make cookies with Kurt?"

"Yes!" Both children shouted. They crowded Kurt's legs and followed so closely beside him to the kitchen he had to be careful not to step on their feet.

Blaine followed behind them dragging two chairs from the table, "How's the play coming?"

"I'm going to have to start looking for another one soon, but better than Rachel's apparently; did she tell you they got shut down?" Kurt lifted Annie onto her chair.

"Jack, have we heard about the lady from across the hall's play?" Blaine grinned at the little boy as he clambered up on his chair.

"She came over to tell us while we were playing," Jack informed Kurt grimly, "she talks a lot."

"And she's loud too, isn't she?" Kurt patted Jack on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Yeah, we couldn't even hear Nemo." Jack sighed, but his mood quickly changed when Kurt pulled the ingredients from the sack, "Can I lick the spoon when it's time?"

Annie burst into tears, "I wanna lick the spoon!"

Kurt flinched, "We'll use two spoons, you can both have one."

Annie was too caught up in her sudden emotional breakdown to hear him; she continued wailing.

"We're gonna use two spoons so shut up, Annie!" Jack shouted, glowering at his sister.

Annie cried harder, "Jack is mean and I wanna lick the spoon!"

"Jack, don't say shut up to your sister," Kurt reprimanded gently before turning his attention to Blaine, "A little help, please?"

Blaine lifted the little girl off the chair, "Hey, come on, did you hear Kurt? We all get spoons… and chocolate chips. Look it, what's this?"

Annie quieted to stare at the bag of chocolate chips in Blaine's free hand.

He pulled it open and picked out three, but did not immediately hand them over, "Do we need to cry when we want something?"

Annie shook her head quickly.

"What do we need to do?" Blaine prompted, still withholding the candy.

"Ask," Annie said quickly, groping for Blaine's open palm.

"Is there something you want to ask Blaine, Annie?" Kurt asked over his shoulder from where he'd busied himself pouring flour and sugar into a bowl.

"Can I have chocolate chips, please?" Annie said slowly, looking up at Blaine's face with wide eyes.

"Yes you may," Blaine replaced her on her chair and gave her the candy before shaking a few out into Jack's palm.

The entire baking process took much longer than it should have and ended with a half a bag of flour on the kitchen floor, but the children were giggling and pleased by the time the cookies were in the oven baking.

"Are they done?" Annie asked, pressing her face to the glass of the oven door.

"We just put them in," Blaine laughed, crouching low to stare into the oven beside her.

"When the big hand is on the eleven they'll be done," Kurt pointed to the clock on the far wall.

"That's a long time," Jack moaned.

"We'll play while they bake—you brought your craft box, right?" Blaine straightened up and offered a hand to Annie.

Jack ran ahead of him to the family room and dumped the aforementioned box all over the carpet.

Kurt cringed but opted not to comment on the mess.

Blaine caught his pained expression, "There's a bottle of wine in the fridge."

Kurt threw him a grateful smile before going back to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle and two glasses. When he returned to the family room, he found Blaine sitting cross-legged on the floor with the kids patiently doling out drops of glue on plastic gems for Annie.

"Look it!" Annie held up a piece of pink construction paper already littered with glitter and gems.

"That's lovely; great color scheming for a four year-old." Kurt crouched low to look over her project.

"Can we watch a movie, too?" Jack asked. He was splayed on his stomach carefully tracing one of his Pokémon cards.

"What do you want to watch?" Kurt straightened up to search out the stack of movies the kids brought with them on their nearly daily treks up to their apartment.

"Little Mermaid!" Annie shouted.

Jack made a face, "That's a girl movie."

"I love the Little Mermaid," Blaine retorted with a smile.

Jack studied him cynically, "Its got princesses in it."

"I like princesses," Kurt added, winking at Blaine as he filled their glasses.

Jack looked between them warily, "Boys don't like princess movies."

"Well then what does that say about us?" Kurt gave Blaine a bewildered look and tried to suppress a smile.

"Are we girls, Jack?" Blaine looked at the little boy with wide eyes.

"No. I guess not." Jack sat up and fell silent for a long moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek, "Maybe some boys _do_ like princess movies."

"Maybe," Blaine agreed, "And maybe some girls like Pokémon and Power Ranger movies. That would be okay, wouldn't it? If boys liked girl things and girls liked boy things?"

"I guess so," Jack nodded his head, but then frowned, "But can we please watch something different? We _always_ watch the Little Mermaid."

"Sure—wanna try Finding Nemo again since Rachel ruined it last time?" Blaine sealed the glue bottle and moved to Kurt's side to pull it from the pile of movies.

The children agreed and fell silent once the movie began—content to play and occasionally pause to stare open mouthed at the television screen.

Kurt was a little confused when, rather than sitting down beside him on the couch, Blaine settled himself back on the floor between the kids, but he didn't comment on it. When he was sure the time was up on the cookies, he crept quietly out to the kitchen so as not to destroy the momentary silence of the children. He set them out to cool and just as quietly returned to his spot in the family room.

Once Kurt had settled himself back on the couch, Blaine leaned back on one hand and held a yellow feather out to him with a wordless smile.

Kurt frowned, puzzled by the offering, but took it anyway. He tucked it behind his ear hoping for a laugh from Blaine.

To his delight, Blaine chuckled a little before turning his attention to a stack of pipe cleaners on the floor; he busied himself braiding together a pink and lime green one.

Kurt turned his attention back to the film—there was something soothing about the familiarity of a children's movie.

Blaine quietly slid backwards away from the kids and sat down on the couch beside Kurt; he was careful to keep his voice quiet, "Give me your hand."

Kurt raised a questioning eyebrow, but held out his left hand for Blaine.

Blaine slipped something onto his finger, "Consider it a rental until I can get you the real thing."

When Kurt studied it closer he realized Blaine had fashioned his braided pipe cleaners into a ring, he smiled and laughed quietly, "Lovely."

Blaine glanced at the children to ensure they were still engrossed with their movie before touching a soft kiss to Kurt's mouth.

"What was that for?" Kurt spoke quietly, careful to not alert the kids to their intimacy.

"Do you know what today is?" Blaine smiled, toying with the ring on Kurt's finger.

Kurt flipped through his mental calendar- it wasn't any holiday he could come up with, rent was not due, it was none of their friend's birthdays... he shook his head.

"Today is the anniversary of the first day I ever kissed you," Blaine blushed; smiled, "Do you remember?"

Kurt felt a rush of adoration; Blaine _would_ remember something like that. Of course Kurt remembered it, too; he could still smell the sharp chemical tang of tacky glue from Pav's casket while they talked, the clean scent of Blaine's cologne when he kissed him; feel the cuff of Blaine's uniform jacket tickling his jaw when he reached up to touch his face. He pulled the feather from behind his ear and tickled Blaine's nose with it, "I might remember it a bit… I moved you if my memory serves me right."

Blaine caught hold of his hand and brushed a kiss across his knuckles, "You still do and you always will—even when we're old and gross and all we talk about is the weather and we can't match our clothes."

"I will _never_ forget how to match my clothes," Kurt shot back, but he squeezed Blaine's hand in his, "But if you do, I'll lay out your outfits for you every day."

"Promise?" Blaine brushed his thumb over Kurt's.

Kurt leaned over and plucked a blue and red pipe cleaner from the floor. With quick fingers, he twisted them into a ring to match his own. He slid it onto Blaine's finger with a smile, "I promise."

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you liked the chapter even though Blaine made up the holiday :)**

**...TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it's been awhile since I updated, but here is a lovely St. Patrick's Day story for you all! Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Every Dog Has Its Day<strong>_

The apartment was chaotic.

"Why do we always end up with three pairs of socks without mates after we do laundry?" Blaine was hopping on one foot, tugging on the lonely aforementioned sock. He rooted through the drawer, but the matching one was nowhere to be found.

"Sock Troll; lives in the dryer. Real bastard," Kurt quipped; he was in as much of a rush as his counterpart, "Wear a different pair; you'll never find the other one. It's gone forever."

"Pessimist," Blaine glanced over his shoulder at him as he peeled the sock off.

"Realist," Kurt corrected. He glanced at the clock, "and realistically, I am going to be so late for this audition."

"Realistically you could have chosen not to come back to bed this morning." Blaine replied mildly, expertly knotting his tie in the bathroom mirror.

"Technically I never left bed; _somebody_ pinned me to the mattress and had his way with me," Kurt threw Blaine a scowl over his shoulder as he flitted from the room to find his sketchpad. If the production team didn't like his acting, he was banking on them at least being interested in his costume designs, "You're like a very horny, naughty leprechaun."

"I'm going to ignore the possibility that that was a jab at my height and assume it was related to the fact that it'_s_ St. Patrick's Day. And maybe, it being said holiday, I just can't help myself," Blaine replied. He twisted around and pulled Kurt's back against him; running slow hands along his sides until he had his fingertips pressed into his thighs. He laid a hot, wet kiss just behind his ear.

Kurt melted into the contact for just a moment. Instinctively, his hand reached around to the small of Blaine's back, pressing him closer. But then he could feel the knot of Blaine's tie between his shoulder blades and he remembered they had places they need to be, "Blaine, stop that right now. You're not even Irish—you're Italian."

"I'm a little bit Irish," Blaine mumbled, his teeth grazing the edge of Kurt's ear.

Kurt couldn't stifle the moan; he quickly caught himself and shoved at Blaine to get away, "Do _not_ do the ear thing; that's just mean."

"I thought you liked that," Blaine raised an eyebrow; straightened his tie.

"Correction, I _love _that, and you know better than to use my weaknesses to your advantage. We need to be on time today."

"You're absolutely right," Blaine bobbed his head quickly.

"Don't mock me." Kurt snapped; he snatched a gauzy scarf from the closet and slipped it around his neck.

"I would never dream of it," Blaine replied coolly, "I am merely in awe of how punctual you are. It's really an admirable trait; résumé worthy, even."

"Blaine, I mean it," Kurt snarled, glowering at his fiancé's reflection in the mirror.

Blaine straightened up from where he was leaning in the doorway; smirking, "What's the matter, am I upsetting you?"

"You know damn well that you are totally pissing me off," Kurt gave the scarf around his neck one last adjustment, "I hate when you do that teasing thing."

"Do you hate when I do the teasing thing because you're offended?" Blaine took a few steps into the bathroom, "Or do you hate it because it gets you so hot and bothered that you really, _really_ want to fuck me right now."

"Blaine." Kurt clenched his fists, his voice one flat warning note. But it was true: he was beyond sexually frustrated, but he was also beyond determined to not let Blaine know that.

"I'm not saying you would," Blaine held up both hands, feigning innocence; he made to turn away but then paused, "that might mean making you late, and, like I said, your punctuality is absolutely breathtaking."

That did it. Kurt wheeled around to smack a hand against Blaine's chest. He gave him a good hard thwack, but then he was unbuttoning his shirt so fast he was pretty sure he just sent one of those little pearl-colored buttons flying through the air to some desolate corner of the bathroom where it would remain as lost as Blaine's missing socks. He crushed his mouth against Blaine's; not really caring that he couldn't quite catch his breath.

Blaine was faster and more agile. Kurt's shirt was off, the scarf abandoned on the floor, and his skintight black jeans were already being slipped down off his hips.

"Blaine, we really, really don't have time for this," Kurt panted, but it was only out of habit that he spoke at all. He knew he had no hope of walking away.

"So we'll make it quick," Blaine murmured into his neck. He traced kisses down his clavicle, his chest. He sank to his knees and took up the trail right where he left off: the base of his sternum, his abdomen; the exposed line of his hip.

"Blaine, you need this interview, you need—" Kurt had no idea why he was even pretending he thought he could stop Blaine once he's decided he wants something.

"I need _you_," Blaine replied; a lascivious smirk played at his mouth as he ran a finger along the edge of Kurt's underwear, "And in case you'd forgotten, Mr. Hummel; I am very good at what I do… and you have always been so very, very timely."

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><p>Kurt was late to the point that he showed up at his audition panting for breath, his hair disheveled, and one boot untied. He dropped his sketchbook down by the door and a copy of his resume and headshot on the table in front of the casting director and the other two men at the little folding table, "Sorry I'm late—I um… sorry."<p>

The casting director looked him over; his expression bored, "Go ahead then."

Kurt did his best to even out his breathing; smooth his hair with a quick rake of his fingers through the tangled locks. Frazzled or not, he delivered his lines perfectly. He and Blaine had practiced until they were drilled into his head without any hope of escape.

The rooms other occupants did not look particularly impressed. Kurt contemplated dropping his drawing portfolio down on the table to show off before he was shoved out the door.

"Any particular reason you're so late—" the man on the left picked up his résumé to squint at, "Mr. Hummel?"

"I, um… couldn't find my socks?" Kurt wanted to take the words back the second they were out of his mouth. He was Kurt Hummel, the Queen of witty remarks and scathing commentaries, and all he could come up with for an excuse was lost socks?

The men at the table stared at him cynically. The one on the left took a long drink from his coffee cup.

Kurt knew that look: _we'll let you know; sorry, you're not what we're looking for; blah blah blah_. He was tired of that look. He flitted his fingers through his hair and rested a hand on his hip, "Okay, you caught me. I didn't lose my socks; I was getting an amazing blowjob from my boyfriend."

The man on the left choked on his coffee. The casting director only raised an eyebrow.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Kurt plucked his portfolio from the floor and made for the door, "I am going to go home to said boyfriend. Thank you for your time."

As he walked down the street, dodging around the already drunk and avoiding eye contact with a man painted with green glitter, he mentally kicked himself. Brash. Too brash. But… it couldn't be undone now; there would be other auditions and other casting directors and choreographers to grovel at the feet of for a two-line role. What he needed now was to go home, shower, and find Blaine's lost shirt button.

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><p>Blaine shifted in his seat and glanced at the clock. He had been late, but his potential boss was later. He'd been waiting for nearly half an hour next to a woman in a gray pants suit. He wondered absently if they were interviewing for the same job. He was going to squirm in his chair again when he mentally kicked himself.<p>

_Kurt said don't fidget. It makes you look nervous and unfocused. _

He sat up a little straighter and tried to hold still. The secretary glanced up and smiled at him.

"Are you a lawyer?" The woman beside him suddenly piped up.

Blaine turned his attention to her, a little surprised she was choosing to speak to him after nearly thirty minutes of silence, but he was happy for the distraction from the butterflies in his stomach; he smiled, "I'd like to be. Currently I'm a nanny."

"Did the kids make you that or did I miss the memo on some new men's fashion trend?" She nodded down toward Blaine's hand.

He glanced down at the pipe cleaner ring and chuckled; he twisted it around on his finger absently, "No and no; just… a gift from someone."

"Someone special?" She queried.

Blaine had unwittingly led enough women the wrong direction to know the look on her face, "Someone _very _special."

She didn't look terribly disappointed; her eyes moved from his hand to his face, "Hmm, lucky girl."

"Guy," He corrected automatically.

One eyebrow rose just a little, "You're—Really?"

Blaine smiled and shrugged, "Guilty as charged."

She appraised him a second time before smiling at him again, "I guess all the good men really are gay, then."

Blaine laughed, "Hey, I know some fairly decent straight guys, don't get too down on them."

She tucked a stray piece of auburn hair behind her ear and eyed him thoughtfully before getting to her feet and moving toward the front desk, "Sharon?"

The secretary looked up at her apologetically, "You know he would see you right away if he could, he's in the middle of—"

The woman waved a hand through the air, "It's fine; I know. Do you have a piece of paper for me to leave him a note?"

The secretary—Sharon—quickly tore a piece of yellow paper from a legal pad and handed it over with a pen. Blaine glanced at the purse abandoned in the chair beside him. It was a Marc Jacobs bag that he figured had to cost more than a month's worth of rent for his and Kurt's apartment. He also figured Kurt would be worked into a frenzy of fashion lust if he saw it.

Blaine watched while she scrawled something down quickly and handed it back to the secretary. She pivoted on her heels and made for the door.

"Um, miss?" Blaine looked unsurely between the purse and the woman whose name he had yet to learn. He really needed to get better at introductions; he felt like he had a chronic problem of getting twenty minutes into a conversation with a stranger before awkwardly blurting out his name.

She turned to him and waited for him to speak.

He pointed toward her seat, "As much as I'd love to bring that home to my boyfriend, I'm assuming you'd like to take it with you?"

Her eyes widened and she dashed back to the chair to scoop up the precious bag, "Oh my God, I can't believe I almost left it."

"Neither can I," Blaine smiled good-naturedly.

She slipped the strap over her shoulder and gave him another smile, "I'm sure it won't be long before your boyfriend will have more designer bags than he knows what to do with."

"Why's that?"

"Honey, if someone as bland looking as Robert Kardshian could charm a jury, can you imagine the kind of damage you could do in a court room? Firms pay good money for that kind of capacity."

Blaine felt his cheeks redden, "Hopefully the guy doing this interview feels the same way."

"I have a feeling he will; good luck," With a quick wink, she disappeared out the door.

Blaine checked the clock again; now forty minutes late… he was grateful for having had the chance to straighten his tie and catch his breath from the near-sprint to the office, but the wait was beginning to border on ridiculous. Maybe he wouldn't get the chance to be interviewed at all… Oh well, there would be other interviews and he would have the chance to drown his sorrows tonight with Kurt, Rachel, and Finn when they went out for St. Patrick's Day drinks.

"Blaine Anderson?" The secretary called out.

Blaine glanced around the empty room. Other than the woman, he had been the only other person in the waiting area since his arrival, so he wasn't entirely sure why the secretary felt it necessary to call out his name, "That's me."

"Mr. Delaney will see you now," She blinked at Blaine over the tops of her reading glasses.

He felt a rush of nerves as he got to his feet and he was suddenly very aware of the button missing from the bottom of his shirt. _Act confident and you'll be confident. _Another little bite of wisdom Kurt had offered him. He rolled a shoulder to get rid of the tension in his back and strode toward the door. He knocked and waited to be called in.

A man sat behind a plain looking desk. He was staring down at a creased piece of paper when Blaine entered; stacks of paper lined the wall and cluttered the corners. The man was rather striking, Blaine couldn't help but note; silvering hair; icy blue eyes that had looked up from the paper in his hands to scrutinize the boy in his doorway. His smile was the only thing that relaxed Blaine, "So, you're Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine quickly stepped all the way into the office and offered a hand, "Yes, sir. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Delaney."

The older man shook his hand firmly, "Have a seat, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine took one of the empty chairs on his side of the desk; he sat up as straight as he could. This man reminded him of someone…

Robert Delaney turned his attention back down to his desktop. He plucked a folder from the wooden surface. Blaine recognized it; it was the one he'd dropped off with the secretary nearly two weeks prior housing his resume, test scores, recommendation letters; anything that might make him look desirable as an employee. Robert flipped through the sheets, "Impressive."

"Thank you, sir," His father. Yes, that was it. Mr. Delaney reminded Blaine of his father. The thought didn't comfort him.

"Says here your reason for leaving your last firm was 'moral disagreements'."

"Yes, sir, I—"

"I didn't ask for the nitty gritty on it, Anderson; don't offer details that aren't required. Didn't you learn anything in law school?" He glanced over the top of the white sheets to look at Blaine.

"Apparently nothing useful," Blaine felt a hot blush forming in his cheeks.

The man across from him chuckled, "No one ever does. So, Mr. Anderson, you tell me: why should I hire a twenty four year old kid with a pipe cleaner wrapped around his finger to work in this firm?"

Blaine resisted the urge to look down at his hand, "I don't think I need to go into a long list of prerequisites; you have my resume right in front of you, so I won't bore you with those details. I'm good at what I do, sir. I'm dependable; I'm loyal, and I will push papers and fetch coffee for as long as I need to so I can prove that to you."

Mr. Delaney folded his hands on his desk, "Is that it?"

"That's it."

He studied him for a while longer before leaning back in his chair and giving Blaine a funny smile, "My wife was quite taken by you."

"I beg your pardon?" Blaine blinked; his careful poker face melting into confusion. Suddenly he remembered the woman in the waiting room. The quickly scribbled note. He glanced down at Robert Delaney's desk and, sure enough, there was a framed picture of the two of them together, "Was she the woman sitting in the lobby?"

"One and the same; quite the lady, isn't she?" Robert grinned, eyeing the picture as well.

"We had a nice chat," Blaine mentally kicked himself for assuming she had been a client.

"So I've gathered; she is also in possession of an almost supernatural ability to discern things about a person's character," Robert sat up straighter again and Blaine did the same, though he was already sitting so primly in his seat he wasn't entirely sure he could make his shoulders any stiffer, "I trust her judgment completely, Mr. Anderson; it's a rarity that she's wrong."

Blaine's neck was tense, but he didn't dare relax into his seat. He wasn't sure how to respond to the comment, so he bobbed his head up and down in consensus.

Robert's face remained stern as he slid a piece of yellow paper across his desk.

Blaine looked down at it uncertainly but didn't move.

"Don't just sit there; read it." Robert waved an impatient hand toward the sheet.

Blaine picked it up and read the scrawled message.

_ 'Hire the kid in the waiting room. He's gold.'_

When he looked up again, Mr. Delaney was watching him; an amused smirk playing at his mouth, "What do you think. Kid; can you prove her right?"

"Yes, sir." Blaine felt almost breathless with hope.

Robert Delaney broke into a full smile, "Do you think you can show up on Monday with a shirt that isn't missing a button?"

"Absolutely," Blaine nodded his head up and down quickly, "Of course."

Robert stood and Blaine quickly mirrored the action, nearly tipping his chair over in the process. Robert shook his head and chuckled to himself, "Stop back up at the desk; Sharon will get you the paperwork you need. Can you handle being here by seven next week?"

"I'll be here at six," Blaine felt dizzy with excitement.

"Don't kill yourself just yet, kid, we'll put that enthusiasm to good work," Robert extended a hand over the desk, "Welcome to Delaney and Cohen, Blaine."

Blaine shook his hand quickly and reminded himself a hug would be inappropriate, "Thank you so much, Mr. Delaney, you won't regret it, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Robert chuckled again, "Go on then and get out of here. Shouldn't you be celebrating the day with the rest of the New York twenty-somethings?"

"I've definitely got something to celebrate now," Blaine backed out of the doorway, "Thank you, again, sir."

He gathered up the stack of forms from the front desk and, as soon as he was sure Robert Delaney would have no chance of seeing him from his thirteenth floor window, he broke into a jog—he couldn't help himself; he had to get home to tell Kurt.

* * *

><p><em>Sequence.<em>

The idea hit him so suddenly he let out a yip of excitement. Kurt yanked the faucet to the right and stumbled from the shower. He had developed the habit of stopping any and everything he was doing to cater to his moments of inspiration. Well, almost anything; he'd never abandoned sex. A solo shower, though, he was more than willing to desert without a second thought. He wrapped a towel snug around his hips and ventured out to the bedroom where his sketchbook and pens were residing.

Kurt poured the pack of pens out over the unmade bed and flipped to the half-completed rendering. He folded his legs underneath him and set to work; his pen nearly frantic to get the idea out before it faded. He didn't even hear the click of the door sliding open.

"Kurt?" Blaine called; his voice unnecessarily loud for the little space.

"Drawing," Kurt returned. Blaine knew better than to interrupt a drawing session. If Kurt suddenly hopped up, mid-sentence from the dinner table to quest for his pens, Blaine did not bat an eye, but today he stood in the bedroom doorway impatiently; bouncing on his heels.

"Are you almost done?" He walked more fully into the room to peer down at Kurt's project.

"It's a quick project; just be patient," Kurt bit his lip as he tried to maintain his focus.

Blaine tugged his shoes and tie off before sitting down on the bed beside Kurt. He eyed the exposed skin of his fiancé's torso, but he let him be. He watched quietly over his shoulder until the pen strokes slowed and Kurt's back relaxed.

"Kurt," Blaine twisted the ring around his finger; too excitable to just sit still.

"Hmm?" Kurt mumbled; his eyes still focused on the drawing.

"I got the job," Blaine grinned at the side of Kurt's head.

"Mm, that's good," Suddenly Blaine's words registered with Kurt. He shook the haze of his drawing from his mind and snapped his head around to look at Blaine, "Wait, what?"

"I got the job!" Blaine repeated; his grin even wider.

"Oh my God, Blaine, that's incredible! I mean I knew you could, but I—" Kurt threw his arms around Blaine's neck, "Oh my God, Blaine, I'm so proud of you."

Blaine hugged him back tightly before loosening his hold to touch a quick kiss to his mouth, "How was the audition?"

"Can we pretend it didn't happen?" Kurt rolled his eyes.

"That bad, huh?" Blaine smiled grimly, "Of course we can forget about it; we're going out for drinks with Rachel and Finn still, right? We'll block out the memory with cheap booze."

"Make sure to stick a post-it to the fridge that you _do _have a job, though; no use forgetting that," Kurt turned his gaze back down to the paper and half-heartedly shaded in a piece of the dress, "And make sure you let Keira know she needs to find a new nanny."

Blaine watched over Kurt's shoulder as he filled in the picture with bits of pink and blue. Despite his lover's joking tone, he could feel the disappointment radiating off of him. He glanced down at the pile of pens and got an idea. He plucked a green one from the pile and settled himself behind Kurt before uncapping the pen, "Hold still."

"What are you doing?" Kurt tried to turn and watch, but Blaine held him still with a hand at the top of his back.

"You'll see, just wait," Blaine touched the tip of the pen down to the middle of Kurt's shoulder blade. Carefully, neatly, he traced out the four little green loops; a curved stem.

Kurt held perfectly still as the ink tickled his skin.

"There," Blaine blew on the wet ink.

"Can I go see now?" Kurt tried to twist around again, but he couldn't make out the little picture.

"Go ahead," Blaine motioned a hand toward the bathroom.

Kurt went to stand in front of the mirror; he peered over his shoulder and smiled, "A clover?"

"For good luck," Blaine watched him through the door, "For the next role."

Kurt returned to their bedroom, crawling across the mattress to rejoin Blaine and pack up his sketching supplies, "It might wash off before then."

"I'll keep redrawing it," Blaine scooted up behind Kurt and wrapped his arms around his middle.

"It's going to take a lot more than a little luck of the Irish for me to land anything major out here," Kurt sighed, he let Blaine hold onto him as he continued shoving supplies back into his black canvas carrier.

"You are phenomenal; all you need is that one little spark and you'll bring this whole city to its knees," Blaine pressed a kiss to the clover sketch before resting his chin on Kurt's shoulder, "Just you wait; I guarantee it."

"The only person I bring to their knees is you," Kurt smiled a little and shoved the portfolio off of the bed.

"Are you complaining about that?" Blaine murmured in his ear; his hands brushing across Kurt's stomach.

"Of course not," Kurt leaned back further into Blaine's arms, "Once you're a big, successful lawyer maybe I should just quit doing auditions and hold one-man shows for you every week. How about that?"

Blaine found Kurt's hands and wrapped them up in his, "I would be entirely okay with that."

They heard a knock on the door and a loud voice following it as it swung open, "Please have clothes on."

"You're safe, Finn," Blaine called back.

Finn strode into the main room; a pack of beer dangling from his left hand. He looked around dazedly, "Guys?"

Kurt slipped out of Blaine's arms reluctantly and off the bed, "In here, Finn."

Finn turned to face the open bedroom door and clapped his free hand over his eyes, "You said you were dressed!"

"Grow up, Finn. Blaine is clothed, and I have a towel on; you're witnessing something about as tame as PBS kids' programming," Kurt rolled his eyes at his brother before approaching the closet.

"Finn, I really think it would be best if we were careful tonight with our holiday festivities, I need to be in perfect health in case of any impromptu audition performances I may need to partake in. Do you know how devastating this could be to my voice if we—"

"Rachel, you just got laid off, I just got shut down, Blaine just found a job, and it's St. Patrick's Day," Kurt peered around the open closet door to give her a pointed look, "The Gods are telling us that drinking too much is an essential today."

"I did _not _get laid off; it was the producer's fault that—"

Blaine hopped up from the bed and strode out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, "Rachel, come help me make drinks; I think Kurt needs a strong one."

Kurt dressed quickly; he'd already had his post-audition outfit picked out the night before. He joined the others around the kitchen table, and Finn was quick to shove a cold glass in front of him.

"I vote we get drunk here off of stuff we already own before we go to the bars; it'll save us money." Blaine proclaimed.

"Blaine, it's barely four in the afternoon, I really think we should pace ourselves," Rachel frowned at him and then redirected the look to Finn, "We all want to keep our heads about us."

"Speak for yourself; I plan on drinking myself silly until bar time, promptly passing out, and spending all day Saturday on the couch watching Will and Grace re-runs." Kurt took a long drink from his glass to emphasize his point.

"Same here," Finn tapped his beer bottle against Kurt's cup, "Except without the Will and Grace."

"Kurt, I've been thinking," Rachel toyed with a straw in her own glass and she tilted her head thoughtfully, "Why don't we just produce our own show?"

"There are three reasons that would never work," Kurt tipped his cup from side to side; the ice inside clicked against the edges of the glass, "We don't have any money to fund it, and I would kill you by the end of the first day."

"Wasn't that only two reasons?" Finn frowned as he contemplated Kurt's words.

"I count me killing her twice," Kurt supplied coolly.

Rachel finally took a sip of her drink, scowling at Kurt around the straw.

Kurt's phone rang from the bedroom. He smiled at the others apologetically before hopping out of his chair to catch the call before it got to voicemail. He had to dig through the mess of the comforter to find it, but he still managed to catch the call.

"Hello?" He said, feeling a little frazzled.

"Is this Kurt Hummel?" A man's voice—that sounded vaguely familiar—responded to him.

"This is; may I ask who's calling?" Kurt glanced over his shoulder to the main room, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Kurt, this is Macon Hyre, we met this morning."

The casting director. Kurt felt his cheeks flush and he was glad his conversation partner couldn't see him, "Hello, Mr. Hyre, how can I help you?"

"You made quite the impression this morning on us," Macon responded, his voice holding just the slightest note of amusement.

"I tend to do that to people," Kurt tried to laugh, but it sounded strained, "Not necessarily intentionally though."

"Well, intentional or not; we liked your spunk, Hummel. Very fierce."

"Oh, well, thank you," Kurt met Blaine's eyes but tried to hold a poker face.

"We want you back in on Monday to pick up your script—"

"Wait, are you saying I got the part?" Kurt cut him off and didn't even care; he wouldn't have been able to process a single word Macon was saying if he didn't ask immediately.

"Yes, Mr. Hummel, you got the part. You can get your script and more instructions at the same place your audition was. Be there at nine. One second late and you're gone, is that clear? I do not work with self-important, egocentric divas."

"Of course I'll be there as soon as I possibly can; I could come now if—"

"No, no; Monday. Wait for Monday," He chuckled a little, "Go give the news to that boyfriend of yours."

"I will; right now," Kurt felt his cheeks turn scarlet, but he didn't care. When he hung up, he stood for a moment and let it sink in.

Kurt returned to the main room and beamed down at the others, "Blaine."

Blaine looked up, "Wow, must have been some phone call to put that look on your face; who was it?"

"Macon Hyre," He didn't care that Blaine would have no idea who that was, "I got the part."

"Wait, what?" Blaine slowly got out of his chair, "I thought that—"

"I did too, but I did it!" Kurt clapped his hands together and jumped up and down, "Blaine, I got a real live multi-lined part!"

Blaine ran around the table and hugged Kurt tight in his arms while Finn and Rachel applauded him from their places at the table, "I'm so proud of you."

Kurt glanced guiltily at Rachel over Blaine's shoulder, "Rachel, I'm sure—"

"Don't look at me like that, I'll get my big break soon enough; it's just a matter of time," Rachel lifted her glass, "I propose a toast."

Kurt and Blaine rejoined her at the table and lifted their glasses as well.

"To you two finally finding your feet out here," Rachel proclaimed.

"To you two finally being able to pay us back for rent last month," Finn added.

"To Finn learning to cook on his own so he doesn't have to raid our fridge five times a week," Kurt retorted.

"To empty wallets, missing buttons," Blaine threw Kurt a quick grin, "and great sex."

The others cheered and clinked their glasses together.

Finn drained his bottle and glanced down at his watch, "We should head out."

The others followed his lead as he stood and made for the door.

"I need to go get my shoes," Rachel announced loudly, tripping over the doormat as she made her way to her own apartment—her earlier inhibitions about drinking had long since been drowned in the cup of vodka and lime Blaine had been surreptitiously refilling while they sat and talked.

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a look as they all followed into the hallway to watch her struggle with the key for her door.

Blaine watched Kurt; his cheeks were still flushed with excitement and a smile was constantly tugging at the corners of his mouth. he leaned in closer; squeezed Kurt's hand in his, "I told you so."

Kurt leaned into Blaine's arm, "Just this once, I'm going to let you get away with saying that."

"That's a shame, because I plan on saying it everyday from now until I'm sitting in the front row watching you," Blaine smirked, "and then probably everyday after that when people are clamoring to have you in their shows."

Kurt smiled, his eyes still on Rachel as she finally relinquished her key to Finn to open the door, "You'll have to keep drawing clovers on my back just to make sure I don't lose _this_ role."

"You don't need any extra help. But if you want, I wouldn't mind redrawing them from time to time," Blaine glanced toward the now-opened door of Finn and Rachel's place. Finn was busy trying to help Rachel lace her shoe. Seeing they were both distracted, Blaine touched a kiss to the spot behind Kurt's ear, "I could put one there."

Kurt bit his lip to keep quiet as Blaine traced a hand down to the base of his spine and pressed his fingers in a little harder, Blaine grinned at the look on Kurt's face, "Or there."

Kurt reached around and caught his hand before leaning into whisper, "Remember that little commentary about bringing people to their knees?"

"I might have a faint recollection," Blaine raised an eyebrow.

"You. Me. Now." Kurt muttered in his ear; his breath was warm and smelled like lime.

"Wait, we can't both be—" Blaine watched as Kurt pivoted on his heel and disappeared back into their apartment, "Um, Finn?"

"Hold on, I just need get this other shoe—" Finn paused to let out a disgruntled sigh when Rachel announced she wanted to wear her boots instead.

"We'll, um, we'll meet you out." Blaine backed toward his door.

"What?" Finn twisted around to frown at him, "Why?"

"Gotta go, uh…" Blaine was all the way through the door, "Find my shirt button; we'll call you."

With that, he slammed the door and turned the lock before rushing toward their bedroom. Kurt was already there, kneeling on the carpet. He caught Blaine by the hips with a wicked grin on his face, "I'm not the only one who can bring the city to its knees."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you liked! the song for this chapter was Every Dog Has Its Day by Flogging Molly**


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